


Routine

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: Torchwood Ficlets [10]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: A day
Series: Torchwood Ficlets [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711324
Kudos: 6





	Routine

Ianto liked routine. It was familiar, comfortable. It had a rhythm, a pattern.

He woke every morning at half five. He ran for forty-five minutes. He showered. He put tea on as he spent no more than five minutes choosing the correct combination of shirt, tie, and suit. Milk in his tea, two slices of toast, hair carefully styled, teeth brushed, keys, phone, shoes, socks, out the door to his car by seven.

At the hub by seven fifteen. First pot of coffee ready fifteen minutes later for Jack's arrival from his room under his office. Another fifteen minutes flirting and talking with Jack about Jack's appointments for the day (if any) and/or whatever files he thought he might need from the Archives.

After that, straightening the perfectly arranged tourist booth, feeding the pterodactyl, servicing the SUV, and preparing the next pot of coffee for the others arrival at nine.

Coffee, lunch, files, flirting, files, coffee, archives, coffee, the day could continue in a relatively constant pattern if the rift was quiet. If it wasn't, the routine was gone, the comfortable, familiar pattern of events quickly abandoned for the next emergency, which was a routine in and of itself. Prepare the SUV, get communications on line, prepare his own field kit for a clean up call if needed, have coffee and tea ready to go depending on the call.

On the quiet days, the others filed out at seven or so, leaving behind the detritus of their presence, which Ianto would then set about cleaning up. At eight, he'd put on another pot of coffee and carry himself down into the archives for a few hours of uninterrupted cataloging and organizing the vast collection of artifacts that had been (in his opinion) seriously neglected until his arrival.

At eleven he'd put on one final pot of coffee to keep Jack through the night, check on the pterodactyl, and take his leave.

Home by eleven-fifteen, a quick supper of eggs and toast, or pasta, or nothing if they'd had take away at the hub, and he'd settle in to read, or watch the telly, sleep if he was lucky, until his alarm sounded at half five in the morning.


End file.
